


Made Up Title Game

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Boxer Dean Winchester, Curses, Drabbles, F/M, Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Plots, Prompt Fic, Reader-Insert, Unrequited Love, Witch Curses, title prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 20:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 6,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16840267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: A series of drabbles and plots based on Titles submitted to my tumblr blog.  Lots of fun!...IF YOU ARE A WRITER please feel free to pilfer any of these ideas.  Just give me a heads up/tag when you post. :)





	1. Where I does not exist, Nor You, from lepetitegamble

In this fic, it’d start like a Dean x reader au - perfect, bright, with your two kids, pre-breakfast cuddles, sparkling love from your little girl and boy, lazy days in the back yard, exploring the forest beyond, micro lessons about bugs and making dens, left overs for dinner, and seeing Dean glow in the love of his family.

Then you’d do it all again tomorrow. So perfect. Everyday. Every day.

Every day. Until you see a sad girl at your mailbox. She’s confused and you feel like you know her, or that she needs help, so you tap Dean on the shoulder, point out there and he gathers the kids while you go.

When you get out the door, before you even speak, she runs, down the street. You follow. You didn’t realise how long and straight your street was but she keeps going and so do you. 

“It’s okay!” she calls out. “I’m okay! You can stop running! I just- I can’t talk to you!” She sounds like she’s crying.

“You can, if you need!” you call back and slow down. Suddenly you don’t want to make her uncomfortable. “I’ll be here.”

She lets out a sob, and keeps going, and you slow down to a stop.

You stare down the road and at some point you can’t tell if she’s run away or disappeared - you didn’t notice it happen. You turn around and run back. The road seems to loop on itself, and home appears too quickly. When you walk in the door, the children are the same, Dean asks how you went and you tell him what happened. He doesn’t ask any more, just nods, a little curious, but you go on with the day as usual - forest, dens, dinner, glow.

The next day, when the sun shines on the curtains like it did yesterday, you ask Dean “Do you remember that girl?”

And he can’t quite answer you, but he thinks about it really hard, stares at the mailbox while he does. “I think tomorrow, we should leave the kids with Mom.”

The next day, you don’t leave the kids with Mom, but the light reminds you to you ask him about the girl again and he says the same thing again, before leaning into the thought and pushing into the feeling… “…No. Today.” He takes hold of your hand and looks out the window, tries to see how far he can see.

He leads you out to the backyard. Mary’s there, asking “Haven’t you two gone yet?”

You can’t see the children’s faces, and you’re thankful, pulling Dean back into the house, through to the front yard. Everywhere is trees and houses, no horizon. You jog together, down a street, down another street. It becomes a kaleidoscopic suburbia, picket fences, shrubbery boarders, wooden homes and perfect yards. You stop at the fourth street, which may as well be the first, turning to try to and see where you came from, where you could go. When you stop you feel like the air might rip apart and reveal something, but it’s still. Everything is still, watching you. “I don’t even know which way’s north,” Dean mutters. Both of you breathe hard.

You squeeze Dean’s hand and he looks at you, your skin, your anxiety, it’s realness. And idea forms, somehow, and you force new thoughts out your mouth. “Let’s get drunk,” you say.

In the nearest house there’s enough whiskey to kill you both, and you start off with full glasses each. You should get drunk from this much liquor.

On the second refill, he asks “You feel the world wobbling?” He puts the bottle down, puts your hand in his other so he can wipe off the sweat without letting you go. 

“When was the last day of crappy weather?” You throw out the question and throw down your drink. “The last birthday.”

“Tell me about that girl again.” Drink, gulp, slam.

“She looked like you.” Where are you? Are you making yourself vulnerable doing this? “Don’t let go of me.”

“Never,” he swears. “You know it doesn’t fuckin’ matter where we are, I’m not lettin’ go.” He looks out the window again; it’s so unremarkable that it defies description. “I don’t think we’re meant to be here.”

“Where should we be then?” Panic should be starting now, but it doesn’t. You feel determined, angry. “If this isn’t our home and our children, where are we supposed to be Dean? Where’s home?”

Dean’s gaze slips down, into your lap and he holds your hand like he might tip off his chair. You can tell his mind is seeing things his eyes aren’t. You talk him through it. “Tell me, what’s home.”

The break from the script is a struggle for him too. “Ah shit… a wheel?”

“Close your eyes and tell me. Tell me about home Dean. _Home_.”

“A steering wheel- Sam- Shit! Sam!” He looks at you because _when was the last time you saw Sam?!_ Dean closes his eyes again. “Stars in circles, old rooms, dark and musky, lotta concrete… corridors and… a steel kitchen. Why- I need you here, babe.”

Hand in hand still, you move over and straddle his lap, pull his forehead to yours, bumping for closeness, changing nothing until you kiss him and close your eyes to listen. He hears your mind say “The bunker,” and he hums hard for the fact. 

You seek out a doorway in his imaginings, see shadows moving beyond it and he coasts with you as though your ears are touching, temples nudged together, four eyes in a row. At the table you see, all warm wood and lighting, and Sam, tall and tired, with a young woman and a slightly younger man.

“…They just looked so happy,” she says. “I couldn’t do it. We were there and- you were maybe seven?”

“Yeah, but they’re not supposed to _be_ there,” says the young man.

“They were _happy!”_ she cries, so familiar. _Familiar_. You hold Dean tighter, and he presses harder. “Happier than they could ever be here. They deserve their heaven!”

“Yeah, but he’s right: they’re _not_ meant to be there,” says Sam. “We need to figure out what they’re doing in heaven when they didn’t even die, and what the hell happened to their bodies.”

* * *

**[feelmyroarrrr](http://feelmyroarrrr.tumblr.com/)** asked: Omg that made up title! I need to know what happened!!

Well, the short _er_ story, is that an angel, or someone, takes them out of the picture by popping them into heaven. They don’t necessarily need them dead, they just want them out of the way. Together and at the same time is neat, but tricky to achieve, so they skipped the killing, just did a yoink with your souls, and then poofed your bodies away. Missing doing the same with Sam was a mistake, especially since he was able to find out that neither of you had _actually died_ , but this way they have you and Dean in heaven _for sure,_ and you’re not meant to fight that. In hell, there’s consciousness, for the misery, and purgatory is _all_ fight, but if you were separated you’d find each other some how. Hence, with both in heaven, together, with your kids back before it all got dark, it’s nice and neat and quiet.

But your kids are grown now, not little, and the heaven is almost sterile in it’s perfection. It just reminds you of what was real, so you’re comfortable fighting it, and actually feel better for it. That fight, however, only gets you back to where you belong in a very flimsy way - where so many parts of you both are, in family and DNA, but not physically. And now you’re in the bunker somehow, or you can visit at least, and you’ll have to figure out how to get yourselves back there for real before whoever put you there figures out you’ve become self-aware. In fact, you’ll have to figure it out again tomorrow, after you wake up and have your wonderful snuggle-filled morning _again_.

Meanwhile, whoever did this, is pretty much set on killing Sam in whatever way is most convenient. They don’t care where Sam ends up - it just won’t be with you, in your special fake bubble of heaven. So when the culprit cracks the cage, and Lucifer drags Michael to the surface, babbling and wild, no one knows how strong your unguarded children will be against his influence. This time he’ll set Michael on your daughter, being eldest, and he’ll work on your son. And, in theory, Sam would be dead and you’d be on your broken record of bliss, all out of the way, and the apocalypse would start again.

That’s what you two and Sam have to figure out before he’s killed and you are, maybe, popped into a different world? In a galaxy far far away? And I have no idea what the clues would be, or which villainous angel would be the one to kick it all off, but there would be two parallel stories, on heaven and earth, and I’d have the show down with Sam and the villain, not with Lucifer and Michael involved (coz that’s a whole other season finale). Does that help?


	2. Almost, from Anon

So, in this Sam x reader story, it starts with something going wrong. (It’s kind of like my last Sam mini-series, _[Sensation](https://littlegreenplasticsoldier.tumblr.com/post/160297417602/sensation-part-1)_ , but reversed.)

Actually, it starts on a first date with Sam. He’s driven you there, opened the doors for you, shuffled around nervously and finally sat down with a glitter in his eye and a slight blush on his cheek. You make a joke about choosing dessert and working backwards and he makes a comment about maybe having that at home before biting his lips together and pretending he didn’t just suggest that. You’ve literally just put down your knife and fork after the main meal when Dean’s message calls an abort on the rest of the night.

The five of you decide to make some sort of use of this alternative universe / dimension hacking thing that you’ve been working on (”Now you’re working with portals!” “ _Dean_.”) This monster is something you don’t know how to kill, and Jack is being coached through zapping them off to another somewhere. The thing is, you decide, or Sam decides really, that asking Jack to choose a place in all the infinite places is impractical. If he finds it, rather than it being random, he runs a risk of accidentally working a seam between the two places with repetitive access, or something, because once you include a person, it’s never truly random. You don’t really understand it.

So Cas, with help from Sam and Jack, creates a kind of location bomb that detects alternate dimensions that are “without consciousness” (as in, no humanoid types live there) for Jack to activate. It’s thrown at the thing (I’m undecided about which beasty it’d be - that’s research I’d bother with if I actually wrote this) and Jack lights it up with his nephilim mojo.

Except, on the first go, you’re standing too close.

The beast is gone, but so are you, almost. What’s left of you is a golden, glowing shadow. You can feel the pull of the place the rest of you has gone to. You can hear trees and birds, you can feel cold, but you can’t really see it. You can see a kind of movement but it’s behind everything here on earth. You’re neither here nor there, but you’re definitely in both places, sort of.

Everyone is very apologetic, and flurry into research and action. Jack doesn’t feel he can safely gather you up and bring you back but he is sure you’re mostly here, and after a few hours he can detect that you’re slightly _more_ here. There is definitely where you also are and you’ll all be back soon. So everyone relaxes and waits. 

Meanwhile, you’re very ethereal. The juxtaposed vision fades but you can’t pick up anything. Everything falls through you, and you can’t change your clothes, not that you sweat. It’s like all your usual processes have slowed, almost stopped, without all your mass. Dean makes jokes about you being _so_ transparent and calls you Casper; you swipe your hand through him just to make him yelp at the feeling.

You have to sleep on the ground, because the bed doesn’t detect you, not for a few days. And you fucking _glow_ with all that explosive energy _._ After a day and a half of dozing through the brightness of your skin, you’re near tears with tiredness and stress. 

Sam is so distraught for you that he lays with you too. In a moment of comfort, when he’s beside you on the floor where you can rest, he leans over you halfway because he can’t _hug,_ sort of creating a shelter. He gets as close as he can and you find that if he almost leans his neck over your brow, in that electric margin that’s no air and not you, it’s dark. “Wait,” you gasp, trying to shepherd him without contact. “Please stay there. You’re all I can see. It’s darker.”

Sam gets himself comfortable enough, his hip on the ground by yours, elbows either side of your shoulders, and hangs his head by your ear to give you shade and some time to sleep. He sleeps too, blinking at the carpet when your eyelashes flutter and send little prickles of static against his throat. But it’s not comfortable. When you move in your sleep, and move through him, the hot tingle of it wakes him. Over the days your slowly solidifying self keeps buzzing, and Sam seeks it out, getting close enough whenever he can, because it feels so pre-primal - he keeps thinking of star-dust on a low holy-burn.

Over the next few days you slowly come back. You can sit in furniture, and then you get hungry again, and he feeds you by dropping food into your mouth where you’re most real, because cutlery and vegetation still won’t recognise your lips. You trace his features with an electric non-touch and look at how glorious he is when his skin reflects your ebbing glow.

You spend nearly a week of Sam caring for you, making some kind of love to you and your kind of here self. In the late afternoon of day 6, when it feels like the room is actually closed and there’s no where else you’re aware of, you try moving the lightest of things - Sam’s hair - and you can. He smiles bright, bright like he took on some of that glow, and he kisses you.

That night you skip dinner and get dessert.

* * *


	3. In Between, from Anon

The first thing this makes me think of a threesome, or even some love triangle between the brothers. But because I’m a smartarse I generally go against my first thought, assuming it’s everyone’s first thought and therefore soooooo obvious. And, short of some _Footloose_ -at-midday level indulgence, I generally steer clear o that.

Regardless, for this I did have an small reader x Dean scene that I’d build a fic around.

It’s of you pulling back the curtain of the motel room, tilting a bit to look out the window at the car park. It’s maybe half full, and maybe all those empty parks are all out for the night, but you don’t think so.

So when you look back at the only bed in the room - a queen double - you immediately think of the last few times you and Dean had to share a bed, specifically the last time. It’s happened in the past and finding Dean snuggled up to you in the morning never generally worried you since it felt like a natural thing for a human to do. Normally, he’d wake, realize, mumble an apology, and roll away. But about a month ago he’d brushed it off with a joke, covering the minutes he’d lay there awake and not moving. Last week, you’d felt him wake and lay there with you in his arms for a long while. He’d rubbed his forehead on your shoulder. And then he’d kissed your neck. It was still dark, and easy to explain away when it was chilly in the room and warm under the covers and the hunt finished last night with both of you okay.

But he’s gotten a one-bed room on purpose this time. 

And the next morning, as you suspected, he’s right there, snuggled up to you and squeezing. It’s pitch black and he says nothing, using his hands to ask you to face him. It’s just kissing, and cuddling, warm and musky, and he feels heavy and big, and kind, but he’s slow. It’s got a sort of laziness, or hesitation. You even notice the exact moments you should say something and ask what the hell is happening, but he keeps kissing you and it’s kind of fuckingly, infuriatingly perfect. You feel yourself nodding off again so roll over inside his arms, and squeeze his hand when he kisses your neck again. But when you wake in the morning, he’s up and dressed, and acts like nothing ever happened.

* * *

> **Anonymous** asked:
> 
> Made up title: In between was so good. Perfect. Needs 5000+ more words in the same vein, just describing those moments ;)

Gosh, thank you!

You know what, I’d string it out to that too. Another morning of letting Dean indulge in the comfort, and getting ready to say Okay buddy, what’s going on??? Except then you have a scare and he gets all grim and introverted and it happens again, but with some sort of desperation - something where he ends up on top of you but it’s no more than kisses that start from the hip - and you just roll with it because, although there’s some low key stress about how far he’s going to take this, he’s alive and hurting and it’s comfort and it’s nice.

Until the next time where the hunt is rough and he really is using it for therapy. This time there’s sex. It’s wonderful sex, wordless but wonderful all the same. And that time you stay awake afterwards, until he tries to sneak away. You slip your hold around his wrist and pull him back, keep him from leaving the bed, asking What’s going on? Lots of evasive silence from him, eventual eye contact and a proper Sorry Face ™, then something like “You know I can’t have a girlfriend.” And you have a good hard think about that for some long seconds, before kissing his knuckles and telling him “I can’t be a colleague with benefits. I just can’t do it.” He’s hurt at the words, saying “You’re a friend, not just a colleague.” 

“Well, that’s good to know. But I can’t do this to myself. You don’t do it to a friend.”

This time you leave the bed first.

Yup, I’d do that.

* * *


	4. I love u so much it hurts, from multy-fandom-lover

For this I’d write an angst fic! A witch curses you with a killer love curse. You’ll know when you find the guy you want to be with forever, she says, because your love for him will make your heart ache and after a while it’ll start to fail. The more you love him, the faster the end comes. It’s Dean, your suspicions confirmed when you see him next and a sharp pang makes him ask if you’re okay.

So you don’t tell Dean how you feel because it would mean he’d lose you soon, and he’s lost enough. Meanwhile he’s working on keeping Sam from the cage so you just do whatever you can to be helpful, your grief and discomfort easily covered in such upsetting times, and after Sam has gone, you fade into obscurity to die. 

But Dean’s having none of that. He finds you out and you’re too weak to do anything but explain the truth - which hunt it was, how killing the witch didn’t help. He’s furious that you didn’t come to them for help. And you tell him you couldn’t do that because he’s the one you heart is dying for, and that if he loved you back, watching him sacrifice for you would’ve dragged you to death so much faster. One kiss would’ve finished you.

And at that, Dean leaves. Quite without explanation. You assume it’s guilt, or shame. Sam is gone; maybe he can’t stay around for this as well. It hurts to know he can leave you so easily but it’s a different kind of hurt - less threatening and cold, more familiar - and you convalesce for long days, thinking that maybe, now that he won’t have you back, you’ll just sit here on the edge of death and life, useless and miserable. Maybe knowing he doesn’t want you will make you love him less - surely you don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t want you? - and as soon as it occurs to you, you start to feel better. Then, much better. 

When Dean finds you again, walking around now, on your way from a job interview even, you see him coming and you turn and run, with more health than you thought you had, you run away, tearing up when you hear him behind you, his breath pushed and footfalls familiar, knowing you can’t stay out of his reach. He pulls you into his reach, then into his arms and turns you around to face him so you can see him tell you he found the witches home - and the materials she used for the spell. He undid it and burned it all. He found away to release you from the curse so you could have each other, because _he loves you so much, it hurts_ when you’re gone.


	5. Animal Instincts, from Anon

Porn.

Okay, I was so _very tempted_ to let that be my only reply. But not I probably wouldn’t do porn. I’d work on finishing the tangle of fluff I started that was Sam being cursed to think he’s a lion. Maybe with porn.


	6. Don't Hold Back, from Sidebysideinsilence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man I struggled with this. It was just so broad! I had the “Yes she’s a demon now but we need her strength” angst fic; a “It’s my début on stage and these are Dean’s words as I go on” AU; the confess your feelings for A Winchester fic, but in the end I went with romantic smut. It’d be a oneshot where the only dialogue is Dean’s. Here’s how it would start:

Dean isn’t surprised to find you coming into his room, but he is a little surprised at your clothes: panties and white business shirt? It’s 8pm. Such a suggestive outfit has his eyebrows jumping everywhere, and he’s about to ask if it’s “business time” except you give him a note…

> _I love being your girlfriend. I love it, for many, many reasons. One of them is that when we’re intimate, I feel how much you care about me. You go to such an effort to give me pleasure. You watch me for it, listen to every noise I make. Giving pleasure seems to be a big part of how you enjoy intimacy. I love that about you too. I’m so fucking lucky. And even though you say lovely things about me and what I do, I want to know how to make you gasp and sigh too. So tonight, I’m not talking, I’m doing. Tell me what you like and what you don’t-_

Dean’s distracted by you walking past him and pulling back the bed covers, revealing whatever you could find in the bunker that you’re prepared to use. You look at him gape at it all and you hold fast, smiling hopefully, kindly, and trust you haven’t gone too far.

He blinks, and swallows down his understanding. “Okay, okay… well, I am one lucky son of a bitch.” His smile is encouraging, and he takes hold of your hand, with something else in mind to say but you shake your head, hold up your finger, and pinch the bottom of the page to point at your last words.

> _-I wanna see your eyes roll back because of what I’m doing to you. Tell me what you want. Don’t hold back._


	7. once upon a Winchester, from Ellen-reincarnated1967

The crown of the House of Winchester is magical. It’s golden, with wolf fur padding it’s rim. It’s also encrusted with rare gems - the petrified elements of monsters that were slain by the King’s family (arctic blue djinn eyes; rustic green werewolf eyes, vampire fangs crushed to sparkling white, and demon’s blood so red), and inlaid with the bones of their Winchester ancestors. If you speak into the cut work at the front - a fine sun-shaped image of all that’s good above the evil - it will grant your wish, _provided_ the crown sits upon the head of a Winchester.

It needs to be a living Winchester too, the eldest.

So learned Queen Ruby who slid her way into the palace to comfort King John when he mourned for his wife, Mary. Ruby played a long game, patiently waiting to bind their countries with a marriage to John, because she’d heard of the magic of the crown and thought she could always wish to go back in time to do it again if she really wanted. It’s just that, once she was there, and the ring was on, the crown wouldn’t work upon John’s dead head.

Before Dean knew Ruby had killed his father, he was tricked by her into wearing the crown, and she wished Dean locked away in the castle tower. It happened in a blink, and Dean shredded his voice calling for help, knowing that the tower was so high that the only souls that could hear him were birds of prey.

Ruby opened her arms to Sam, explaining how John and Dean had abandoned him, and, in front of their people, they held hands and asked everyone to look out for their family and wish them well as they waited for good news of their whereabouts.

She let the council count the days, and eventually, again, they though maybe they could induct Sam as a Steward of the Kingdom, in the stead of his father and his father’s heir. Through her influence on young Sam, Ruby ran the country as she liked.

Ruby let Dean age in that tower, visiting him when it suited to grant herself some treat or benefit. She wished herself young, healthy, she wished the country prosperous and, when it suited her, she wished ruin. Dean told her what he thought of her until she grew tired of his voice and wished his lips sewn shut.

By now, Ruby has worked her way into Sam’s arms. She’s about Dean’s age - old enough to be maternal, young enough to be tempting. And it’s so lonely being a royal.

When she thinks Sam needs her enough, is isolated enough, when he’s so far enamored with her beauty and attention that he can’t even hear the town players joke about her dick in his ear, she takes him to Dean.

Inside the door, yards from his most beloved and lost elder brother, Ruby leans down and whispers a wish into the crown upon Dean’s head. “I wish that Sam cannot see his brother.” Then she takes the crown off his head and puts it on the floor.

So, of course, when Sam is shown the tower cell - and it’s magical view! - he doesn’t see Dean, chained to the wall, just the long lost crown that Ruby has kept hidden to protect young Sam and the manipulations of the council. 

Dean is shocked at how his brother has grown - it must’ve been years - but he’s defiantly unresponsive. He understands that, if Sam believes Ruby’s story, she’ll kill Dean, and have Sam’s head for every wish she ever wanted.

“What would you wish for, if you could, Sam?” Ruby weaves her body around his. “Maybe I can wish it for you.”

“I wish I knew where Dad and Dean have gone,” he answers. “I wish I knew what I did for them to leave me behind. I think about them every day.”

At that, Dean breaks down and cries.

Sam can _hear_ his brother, and when he seeks out the sound, he can feel him, the shape of his face, his moving lips. Ruby wasn’t prepared for this, and backs away. Then Sam places the crown upon his brother’s invisible head, and since he’s a smart person, says “I wish I could see Dean.”

Suddenly he’s holding his older brother’s head in his hands, he’s thin and gaunt and tortured, but Sam has him back. 

Ruby reveals a dagger - “You’re delusional, my love,” she tries. “That man is a criminal. A witch! I thought they’d taken him away and-”

Sam talks to the crown again: “I wish Ruby couldn’t move.”

Sam unchains his brother, and they put Ruby in his place, forever.


	8. For the Love of the Game, from bumbleball13

You volunteer at a psych ward and the dangerous handsome delusional guy in Wing H plays Chinese Checkers with himself, spins the board every now and then to see which colour he’ll play. 

One day you offer to play with him - “Take me for a spin?” you ask. Soon you’re visiting twice a week to play a game, greeting him just like that every time, and the nurses start saying you shouldn’t visit so much, his past is violent, he believes in monsters. Some folks think he killed people, but no evidence was found - he says he couldn’t save them. You ask him about it all and he tells you his truth, and it makes you think of deaths you know of nearby. He’s all “Yeah probably ghouls” but won’t bite, goes off on a ramble about his car, a ‘67 Impala and how much he loved it. His spirit is broken and he’s not even 30. More questions make him reveal he lost his brother. When you look into it though, there are some records of a Sam Winchester having existed, but none of him dying. You keep visiting, playing Chinese Checkers, trying to get some sense out of him, some sort of logic, and even why he hasn’t escaped this place, and he starts getting upset that you won’t leave it. You’re reminding him of Sam and how he failed, and after an outburst of tears and thrown furniture, the doctors tell you to not come back.

Of course you do come back because it IS ghouls and you need his help. You bust him outta there with a promise of going to a drive-in, and even though he’s upset with you - he’s so outta shape, out of practice, you have no practice - when the ghouls arrive he _fucking storms it_. He’s amazing. 

So, clean up, quite times, silently taking stock, driving no where in particular, lots of peering at the horizon from Dean. You drive him to a car lot you think might have a car like his, and there he sees the little green army man in the back door ash tray. “Thought you could take me for a spin,” you say. You’ve driven him home. Kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss.


	9. A Fighter's Purpose, from Dorky-and-i-know-it

This one is an AU where Sam is the older brother. 

John grew up fighting. It’s what he knows and can do, and because he can see talent in both of them he insist that this is their sport of choice and that they train hard. He’s pretty much a stage mom about it.

So Sam who is smart and clever, quick and strong, is very good. Dean has clear talent, brawn on the way, and instinct, too. But John passes away from a king hit, when Sam is nearly 20, and Dean isn’t yet 16. As Dean’s guardian, Sam decides he’ll keep fighting to put Dean through school and he tells Dean no more fighting, that’s it.

It breaks Dean’s heart to watch Sam keep at it and fight, even when he’s injured, fight illegally for the money, taking on pain killers to keep going. Dean fights too, to help out, and mostly in his own time, but when Sam finds out he comes down on Dean like a tonne of bricks. He won’t lay a hand on his little brother, but he does every other wordless thing he can. He drives him home, he pays off the fight fee, he takes him _away_ from it. “You will not tenderise your brain to mush,” he says. But Dean’s sure Sam’s far smarter than him and can’t understand why he can’t just get a better job, even if it is less money, or why _Sam_ isn’t the one going to college. It seems against the laws of nature that Sam shouldn’t study. “Teach me what you learn,” Sam says. “You’re a great teacher.”

Sam doesn’t tell Dean how expensive it all is, but Dean persists, and is stunned when he gets a scholarship to college. Sam isn’t surprised at all, always knew it, tells everyone they meet “Hey, you know, my little brother just got a full ride to TU? In engineering?” and toasts him for a whole week just to stir him up for blushing.

Dean begins in mechanical engineering, but ends up in business, and then he starts to notice Sam’s failing mind. The beatings have taken their toll and Sam starts to mix up dates, times, yelling at Dean like he’s John. Dean asks neighbours and family to keep on checking on Sam, but his constancy fails more and more often. The only thing Sam can really talk about with any continuity is fighting, since he doesn’t have to remember who’s who, or where he is.

Dean’s quick to come home when he graduates. Sam is there for it, proud as punch, but Dean drags him back to their town and wrangles every IOU, gift, future gift, everything, to buy a space in a light industrial area and convert it to a fighting gym. There he can keep an eye on Sam, keep themselves fit, guys can meet and talk and become friends, even drag themselves out of depression. He makes books for his big brother about their lives and who they are, their family business. Sam reads every day, and when words stops working for him, he runs his hands over the photos and shows his feelings with this face. They hug whenever they want.


	10. And now I’m dying and I realized I forgot to live, from Anon

It’d be a drabble:  
They’re the first words you hear of a man dying in Dean’s lap, so you wait behind the door, because it sounded so private and personal.   
Dean says what he thinks he should. “It’s okay, there’s a heaven-“  
“I should’ve told her I love her,” the guy gasps. “I think I would’ve loved her, so much.”  
“I’m sure she knows.” Dean presses down on the gash but the blood still ebbs between his fingers.   
“No. She can’t. No idea. I didn’t- she doesn’t know.”  
“Okay, just relax okay? She’ll know you cared. It’s not nothin’.”  
“Do you have someone?” The man’s voice is just back it’s core, half of it already crossed over.   
“Um, yeah-”  
”Is it- the-”  
”Yeah, she- um-”  
“Say so. Say somethin’-”  
There’s a moment of stillness, breath held.  
“Say you-“ You can hear the fabric being pulled, shifting arms and weight, in the last little fight, like everything that’s ever been important could be this. “Say you love.”  
“I will.” Oh god Dean’s tested, shaken, so quickly.   
”Gotta say it out loud. Say you love.”   
”I love.”   
You hold the door frame and lean in enough to see Dean nod - “I love.” Dean breathes in, bracing against the fall out of truth, and the man finally breathes out. 


	11. Three little piggies, from Writingthingsisdifficult

I love this.   
This is an episode-style story. You, Sam & Dean are hunting werewolves, with the help of some local police. They’re like you - two men & a woman - but they’re not getting along. There was a romantic connect bw two and its wedged them apart with jealousy. Their drama is so distracting that you don’t realise that they are the werewolves and their drama is a whole  
Alpha/omega thing. It’s all comes to a head when you think they’re helping you, camping out in the woods to find the monsters. The tents are flung away (AAAAAH! It’s them!! Run!), the cabin you find gets crushed to bits - only a cave is proper refuge. Tears and alpha violence and “There But for the Grace of Very Sensible Thinking Go Us.”


	12. Timing Is Everything, from Manawhaat

A Sam angst story. You’ve been together three years, known each other since your late teens, and a witch curses you and your favourite song You Are My Sunshine. Every time you hear it, you’re taken back in time, and you grow respectively younger with it. 

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy, when skies are grey, you’ll never know, dear, how much I love you…_

The first time is Sam singing it to your newborn, and in each jumps back you have these moments with Sam that are pivot points in your lives and you don’t know if you have to keep events on the track you know or if it doesn’t matter all all. The song turns up in jingles, in mothers humming it to their babies, supermarket muzak. The further back you go, the more you fuck it up, so bad that at some point you sing it to yourself just to escape what’s happened. At that point you get yourself out of modernity and go rural and start to try and find the witch that did it. When you do find her, and kill her, it takes longer than you hoped, spanning months (maybe years) right over when you would’ve met Sam. So when the job is done you have to you have to get yourself back into the world and find him and hopefully start the future you both shared.


	13. not just purple nurples, from feelmyroarrrr

OK, so Not Just Purple Nurples is a oneshot, where Dean meets a girl at bar and they have a short for shot drink off on Purple Nurples. The next time they meet, it’s Cock Sucking Cowboys (what’s the bet that’s not what you guys call a Bailey’s on Kalua?), then Fruit tingles. Each night ends with a drunken giggle fest of kisses and handsy fun, getting off the ally, on his car, in his car. But on the fourth night Dean doesn’t show like he said he would and she’s sad he’s missing, so she goes to another bar because it feels stale and yuck to be there without him. The alternative bar she chooses is smaller, subdued, more leather, less light, and she finds him there, hunched over a whiskey, looking wrung out. Maybe he was too tired to do another night, and she thinks of all the good reasons why he’s stood her up when they hadn’t even exchanged numbers. So she goes over to his booth and sees bloodied knuckles and bruises about him, and doesn’t know how to ask what happened. He looks up thinking she’s the waitress but it’s her and she’s so pretty and nice. “How’d you find me?” But she asks “I didn’t, I was- did you want company, or…?” He means to answer, but his head kind of gets heavier and he can’t keep his eyes up, deciding she can leave if she wants - it’s hardly a thing between them, and she doesn’t owe him squat. “Has someone seen to that?” She thumbs around a cut at his temple, fingertips teasing his scalp, and the breath is squeezed out of him at the gentle contact. She goes all in, steps up and hugs his head to her belly until he wraps an arm around her thighs. When he takes a deep breath, she lets him go and slides in opposite. “I’m glad I found you,” she says. “I could do with a talk.”


End file.
